Olivia placed a tray of iced vegetables—the decorated sugar cookie kind—on a display table in the cookbook nook. The nook was once a formal dining room for the succession of families who had owned the Queen Anne home before it became The Gingerbread House. In the dignified room, with its crystal chandelier and built-in walnut hutch with leaded glass doors, Maddie’s whimsical creations made quite a statement . . . like flashing neon lights in a medieval cathedral.
Olivia felt anxiety creep up her spine. The same worry had awakened her early that morning and sent her downstairs to the store well before opening. When she had seen Maddie cutting and baking cookies in vegetable shapes the previous day, Olivia was puzzled but not concerned. Even when Maddie returned to The Gingerbread House in the wee hours because she “had some baking to do,” and then insisted to Olivia that the two of them had agreed to host a “spontaneous morning event”—which Olivia was certain they’d never discussed—even then, she’d taken Maddie at her word. However, Olivia bolted awake before her alarm, one phrase of Maddie’s ringing in her head: “I’ve got the whole thing under control.” What “whole thing,” and why might it go out of control in the first place?
Olivia pondered the plate of cookies in front of her, with their wildly colored designs, and she knew the answers to her questions. Maddie was angry with Charlene Critch and convinced she had littered their store’s lawn with anti-sugar propaganda. All the cookies Maddie had prepared for their morning event represented fruits and vegetables. Charlene worshipped fruits and vegetables, and she despised sugar. However, decorated cookies are made with sugar. Lots of it. Charlene was sure to hear about the event and unlikely to be amused by the irony.
An electric blue cookie shaped like an eggplant and decorated with a hot pink smiley face grinned at Olivia from the top of a pyramid. She plucked it off. After glancing around to be sure Maddie wasn’t watching, Olivia exchanged it for a cookie from the middle of the stack, a sedate apple shape, mint green with a baby yellow stem. The eggplant’s bright skin peeked out, but at least she’d hidden that gruesome face.
Olivia started at a clumping sound behind her and turned to see Maddie in full costume. Her laced-up leather boots explained her noisy entrance into the room. Maddie had decided on a farmer theme for her event persona. It was Tuesday, not a day the store’s customers normally expected themed cookie events, but Maddie had given her imagination full rein. She wore red denim cutoffs that skimmed her curvy hips. The bottoms frayed up a good two inches to reveal flashes of thigh. Maddie had wrestled her curly red hair into puffy pigtails and plunked a straw hat on top. A tight white T-shirt and red suspenders completed the ensemble.
“Wow, those look great in here,” Maddie said, nodding with satisfaction at the plate of vegetable-shaped cookies.
“Nice shorts,” Olivia said, hoping to distract Maddie from the disappearance of the evil smirking eggplant. “Sure you’ll be cool enough?”
Maddie arched an eyebrow at her. “I see you are wearing one of your several pairs of gray slacks. Sure you’ll be warm enough?”
“You sound crabby.”
“You moved my cookie, didn’t you?” Maddie slid the eggplant from its hiding place and switched it with the apple cookie. Using both hands, she nestled the grinning vegetable back on top of the cookie pyramid. “I love this cookie. I think it’s one of my best efforts.” She pulled her cell phone from her back pocket and took three pictures of the display. “This goes on our website,” she said.
“Over my dead—”
“Yoo-hoo, girls. I’m here.” It was the breathy voice of their part-time clerk, Bertha Binkman.
Maddie said, “Sorry, Livie, I forgot to tell you I called Bertha in for an extra day. I think we’ll need the help. We’re in the nook, Bertha.”
Bertha appeared, out of breath. Olivia was glad Bertha wasn’t wheezing nearly so much these days, since she had lost at least twenty pounds. She was still well-rounded, but her health had improved considerably. Bertha had been at loose ends when her longtime employer and dear friend, Clarisse Chamberlain, had died the previous spring. Too bereft to remain in the Chamberlain home, where she’d been given a home for life in Clarisse’s will, Bertha had used part of her inheritance to buy a small house in Chatterley Heights.
“Did you girls know there’s a small crowd gathering outside? Oh my, Maddie, don’t you look cute.” Bertha caught sight of the cookie arrangement. “Are those especially for the event? When Maddie called, she mentioned we’d be celebrating foods. My, my, aren’t they . . .” She caught sight of the blue confection on top. “Interesting.”
“It’s eight forty,” Maddie said, checking her cell. “Come on, Bertha. We still have work to do.” She headed for the main sales area, with Bertha following, her white eyebrows puckered in confusion.
Olivia stayed behind in the cookbook nook. As soon as she was alone, she snatched the cursed eggplant cookie, opened her mouth to its widest circumference, and aimed. With her first bite, she took out a third of the blue flesh plus most of the gruesome grinning mouth.
Olivia’s mother poked her head into the nook. “Hello, dear,” Ellie said. “Just thought I’d drop by.” She wore loose, silky blue pants and a long matching blouse tied at her waist with a midnight blue sash. With her long hair swinging in rhythm, she flowed into the cookbook nook like a gentle ocean wave. “You have a bit of blue icing on your lip,” she said.
“Mother, what on earth are you doing here?” Olivia asked as she wiped the telltale icing away from her mouth. “Don’t you have a class in mountain climbing or hang gliding or something?”
“Don’t be silly,” Ellie said. “I gave up such dangerous activities when I turned sixty. I am, however, considering a class in hip-hop dancing. It looks like such fun, and I think it would be excellent exercise.”
“Are you really my mother?”
Ellie smiled benignly at her daughter, who towered over her by eight inches. “One wonders at times.” She took a long look at the plate of cookies, now missing its eggplant. “I was afraid of this,” she said.
“How did you—?”
“Allan and I stopped for breakfast at the café this morning. We ran into Bertha and that sweet beau of hers, Mr. Willard. Though why everyone doesn’t simply call him Willard, I can’t grasp. He is quite approachable.”
“Mom, I really have to—”
“No, you don’t. Not yet,” Ellie said. “Trust me. When Allan and I ran into Bertha, she mentioned that Maddie had called her to The Gingerbread House to help with an event. Bertha said Maddie had described the event as ‘unique and challenging.’ Imagining those words coming from Maddie’s mouth gave me a flicker of apprehension. I left half a serving of eggs Benedict on my plate to come rushing over here.”
Olivia herself felt a shiver of foreboding. Her mother might seem vague at times, even to her family, but Ellie possessed an impressive ability to read people and situations. With trepidation, Olivia asked, “Do you suspect Maddie dreamed up this event with someone in mind? A certain someone who worships vegetables? Because I sure do, and I’ve been in the store since five o’clock this morning, trying desperately to think of a way to prevent a disaster. I’ve had one idea that might deflect some attention away from Charlene, but . . .” Olivia slid a candy-striped banana from the cookie pyramid and began to nibble. “I can’t understand it. Maddie has been acting like a completely different person lately.”
Olivia’s peripheral vision caught Bertha walking past the nook entrance, followed by Sam Parnell, their postal carrier. Since the store wasn’t yet open, Bertha must have offered him a cookie. Good. The faster the cookies disappear, the earlier the event will be over, Olivia thought.
“We’ll examine Maddie’s psyche later,” Ellie said. “Right now we’d better concentrate on damage control. This is Chatterley Heights. Charlene is bound to hear that her beliefs are being mocked. It’s no use hiding in here with your cookbooks, munching away at the evidence. Although . . .” She reached for an ear of fuchsia corn covered in yellow sugar sprinkles. “This looks diseased. I’d better do away with it.”
“I saw Maddie making these cookies yesterday,” Olivia said. “I should have known better. If she weren’t my lifelong friend . . .”
“Yes, and lovable despite her sometimes misguided impulses.”
“I know, I know,” Olivia said. “I don’t believe she really means any harm.”
“Maddie gets an idea and runs with it,” Ellie said. “Like the gingerbread man. And rather like that younger brother of yours.” She held a thoughtful index finger to her chin. Olivia noticed the nail was painted the same deep blue as the sash around her waist. “Perhaps we should revisit the question of Maddie’s psyche. You mentioned she hasn’t been herself lately. Do you think something is bothering her? I only ask because Jason tends to wind up like a top when anything goes awry in his world.”
“Now that you mention it, I have noticed it’s been a while since I heard the words ‘Lucas and I’ burst giddily from Maddie’s lips. When I’ve asked about their plans, she sounds distant. Maybe they’ve had a fight.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the problem.” Ellie polished off her corn cookie and brushed the crumbs from her fingers. “I believe I will give up my yoga class for once. I like Maddie, and I like Charlene, despite her unsettling sensitivities. I think I might be able to help calm the atmosphere.”
“Mother, you are the best.”
“Yes, dear. Now, tell me your plan to deflect your customers’ attention from Maddie’s exuberant creations.”
“Okay, first the simple part. I’ll announce early and often that the fruits and vegetables represent a harvest theme. I mean, it is August, so that should sound perfectly reasonable. However, I’m not taking any chances. I’ve also devised one of our special contests. Come over here, I’ll show you.” Olivia led her mother into the main part of the store. The bright summer sun shone through numerous leaded-glass windowpanes, imposing geometric shapes of shadow and light on the tables loaded with cookie cutter displays, baking gadgets, and plates piled with decorated cookies. Strings of cookie cutters festooned the circumference of the room, looping down from thin wire originally meant for hanging pictures. More cookie cutters, clustered into mobiles, tinkled in the light breeze from the new air conditioner.
The mobiles dipped low enough for customers to touch. Olivia stopped at one of them, a collection of bird shapes. Maddie and Bertha both scurried back and forth from the kitchen, preparing for the event, so Olivia lowered her voice. “We’ve had themed mobiles in the store since we opened,” she said, “but these are different. I created some new themes, and I added one special cookie cutter to each mobile.” She cupped her hand under a cutter in the middle of the mobile. “Like this one. What do you think makes this different from the others?”
“Aren’t you always reminding me to pick up the pace?”
“Work with me, Mom. I need to know if this game will be intriguing and distracting or merely impossible and irritating.”
Ellie touched the cookie cutter, which at her diminutive height required her to lift up on tiptoe. “It’s unusual,” she said. “An antique, isn’t it?” When Olivia nodded, Ellie added, “It is made of tin, I believe, and in lovely condition.” She stepped back and inspected the entire mobile. “Well, it must be the only vintage cutter in the grouping, right? Is that the point of the contest?”
“Give me some credit, Mom. Yes, it’s the only vintage cutter, but there’s one more step. Tell me what the shape is.”
Ellie frowned up at the vintage cookie cutter. “It looks familiar, but I can’t put a name to the shape. I can name all the others, though. Chicken, cardinal, dove, turkey, and so on, but this one looks like a generic bird.”
“In the interests of time,” Olivia said, “I’ll give you a hint. Far back in the last millennium, when you were a youngster, there was an organization to which you belonged. I remember you telling me that you joined at the tender age of—”
“Six.” Ellie clapped her hands and bounced on her toes, as if she had reverted back to that age. “I know the answer now. That sweet cookie cutter is a bluebird, the symbol for little girls who were in training to become Camp Fire Girls. We were called the Blue Birds. Although I don’t believe that’s the name anymore, especially now that boys are allowed to join, which is only fair, of course, but it does change—”
“Do you think this might work?”
“What, dear?”
Olivia suppressed a sigh. “Okay, nutshell plan. I announce a contest to customers. They must identify the only vintage cookie cutter in each mobile and correctly name its shape. The customer who gets the most right wins one of the cutters, whichever he or she chooses.”
Ellie ran her finger along the hemmed edge of the bluebird cutter. “This is such a wonderful cookie cutter, so lovingly preserved. I assume it came from Clarisse’s collection? Are you sure you’d want to give it away? Now Livie, before you interrupt, yes, I’m certain this contest will be intriguing enough to keep many customers from wondering about the reason for so many oddly decorated vegetable cookies.”
“Thanks, Mom. And you’re right, all the vintage cutters come from Clarisse’s collection. I do hate to give up any of them, but I know Clarisse would understand. She loved this town. It would have broken her heart to see Maddie and me feuding with a fellow businesswoman.”
Ellie squeezed Olivia’s crossed arms. “You do realize that Charlene will still hear about this event.” As Ellie shook her head, a long spiral of hair slid over her shoulder. “Poor Charlene. She was always sensitive. Perhaps even oversensitive, though I dislike that term. It’s so judgmental, as if anyone could say how much sensitivity is too much.”
Olivia stared out the window at the view of the town square. It looked so peaceful. She remembered summer days when she would hide from the sun in the band shell, with its stone benches and small dance floor. She’d lived in Baltimore, but she had to return home before she understood that life in a small town wasn’t any simpler than it was in the city. Anger, jealousy, and resentment all flared as frequently in Chatterley Heights as they had in Baltimore. If anything, Olivia was finding it harder to escape here in her little hometown.
“Sweetie, don’t hunch up your shoulders like that,” Ellie said. “It isn’t good for your posture. I honestly think this is a brilliant contest idea. It will surely put everyone in a good mood and moderate the upsetting effect of Charlene’s reaction, which is likely to be dramatic.” She straightened her jacket and tightened the sash. “I see that I have my work cut out for me.” Her face lit with delight as she added, “I believe I made a pun—cookie cutters, my work cut out for . . .”
“I get it, Mom.” Olivia’s tone softened with hope. “Does this really mean you’ll stay to help me, um, handle the Charlene/Maddie situation?”
“Of course, Livie. It’s what I do best.”
Two hours into Maddie’s surprise event, The Gingerbread House held more customers than Olivia had ever seen on a Tuesday morning. Charlene Critch had not shown up, and Olivia had heard no mention of her from any customers. However, Olivia reminded herself, there were still plenty of hours left before closing time. Charlene could walk through the front door at any moment.
Olivia felt a tug on the back of her hair and heard her brother’s voice say, “Hey, Olive Oyl, great shindig.” Jason hoisted his tall, thin self onto a display ledge that jutted out from the wall. He narrowly missed a porcelain bowl brimming with handmade copper cookie cutters. Olivia grabbed the bowl and moved it to a high shelf.
“You break it, you buy it,” she said in her elder sister voice.
“Uh huh. Hey, Charlie, over here!” Jason yelled, waving his arm. “Charlie’s here,” he said.
“I gathered that.”
“This is my day off from the garage,” Jason said. “Charlie’s been working since six thirty, so he gets an early lunch. We heard about Maddie’s cool cookies, and we thought, hey, why not. Boy, are we hungry.”
“So . . . you two are meeting here for a cookie before lunch?”
“Guess again,” Jason said. “I mean, think about it, Sis. These aren’t just cookies; they are fruit and vegetable cookies, something we hardworking guys need lots and lots of, right?”
Olivia glanced around at the dwindling supply of cookies and the many hands reaching for more. Maybe they really might run out of cookies early, before Charlene had a chance to show up.
“By the way, great contest idea,” Jason said. “I already picked out the cookie cutter I want when I win.”
Olivia arched her eyebrows at him. “You? A cookie cutter?”
Jason lowered his voice and leaned toward her ear. “Not just any cookie cutter, Liv. It’s probably the closest I’ll get to a Duesenberg. I don’t expect you to know what—”
“Of course I know what a Dues—” More quietly, Olivia said, “I know what it is. Clarisse had it specially made for her husband, Martin, because he was restoring a 1930 Due—car he’d gotten cheaply. He loved that car.”
“Cool,” Jason said. “Which model? Never mind. See, I want that cutter thing to hang in the 1957 Ford Fairlane I’ve been working on. I found it rusting in a farmer’s field and told Struts. She made an offer on it; got it for practically nothing. But the best part is, she said if I find the parts and restore it on my own time, she’ll let me have it. Hey, here comes lunch.” Jason pointed toward the kitchen door, through which Maddie emerged, chewing on a piece of hay and carrying a large plate stacked high with decorated fruit and vegetable cookies. Charlie Critch stood nearby. He smiled at Maddie and said something. Maddie handed him the tray and waved her hand as if to say, “Put it anywhere.” When she disappeared back into the kitchen, Charlie flashed a broad grin across the room at Jason and lifted the cookie-laden plate above his head. Jason waved and slid off his perch. “Gotta get a picture of this,” he said, holding his cell phone above customers’ heads. “Later, Liv. Can’t wait till you hand over my prize.”
“What makes you think you’ll win the contest?”
Jason winked at her. “Maddie gave me a few little hints.”
Olivia decided that she and Maddie were due for another talk. Not that it would do any good. Maddie was Maddie, impulsive in her generosity, impulsive in . . . just about everything. Olivia began to wonder if moving back to Baltimore to work with Ryan wasn’t such a bad idea after all. However, her mood brightened as she watched her brother and Charlie Critch laugh together and stuff decorated cookies into their mouths. They both cared about Charlene. If it hadn’t occurred to either of them that Maddie’s cookies might be interpreted as a slap at Charlene, maybe no one would make the connection.
An eruption of laughter distracted Olivia from visions of Charlene on the warpath. A group of women had clustered near a large mobile, which hung in front of the picture window looking out on the Chatterley Heights town square. Maddie had designed the mobile using a baby theme, and Olivia had added a copper cookie cutter shaped like an infant’s rattle. Clarisse had bought the cutter to celebrate the birth of her elder son. Heather Irwin, the young librarian at the Chatterley Heights Library, was touching the copper rattle as she spoke to her good friend, Gwen Tucker. Heather, normally shy, looked happy. Olivia had heard she had a new boyfriend, which might explain the color in her cheeks.
Gwen Tucker, along with her husband, Herbie, ran the Chatterley Paws no-kill animal shelter. At the moment, Gwen was pregnant, and she looked it. Fine-boned and about five feet tall, she was lugging eight months of healthy baby. Which reminded Olivia that she and Maddie had promised eight dozen decorated cookies for the baby shower Heather was organizing for Gwen on Wednesday evening. Maddie would have to pull off one of her frenzied baking miracles.
Olivia started at a light touch on the back of her shoulder, and a deep male voice said, “Livie? Could I talk to you for a minute?” She spun around and looked up several inches to Lucas Ashford’s handsome and worried face. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” Lucas said. “I just . . . I know this is a really bad time, but . . .” He ran strong fingers through his dark hair and heaved a sigh that should have sounded manly, but the poor guy looked more like a tot who’d lost his puppy.
Over Lucas’s shoulder, Olivia saw Maddie push backward through the kitchen door, holding a large tray of cookies. She turned around and handed the tray off to Bertha. Maddie glanced around the crowded store with a pleased expression until her gaze landed on the back of Lucas’s head. Her smile melted into sadness, or so it seemed to Olivia. As Maddie spun around and vanished into the kitchen, Olivia said, “Yes, Lucas, let’s talk. Now is fine. Let’s see if we can find a spot in the cookbook nook.”
The relief on Lucas’s face was palpable. He followed Olivia closely through the sales floor, around groups of customers who seemed more interested in eating cookies and trading guesses about cookie cutter shapes than in purchasing anything. In forlorn silence, he stood at Olivia’s elbow as customers stopped her and tried to wheedle hints about which cutter was the special one or whether they’d guessed the shape correctly.
Olivia had hung all her mobiles in the main sales area, so the cookbook nook was relatively quiet. The stack of cookies she had deposited in the nook before the store opened was now reduced to a few colorful crumbs. She led Lucas over to the two leather easy chairs arranged in a corner.
“It’s . . . it’s about Maddie,” Lucas said. He sighed, then sighed again.
Olivia nodded her encouragement. Lucas wasn’t much of a talker, and Maddie tended to interpret for him. Olivia wanted to give him the chance to say, in his own words, what was going on between the two of them. She might not be able to fix the situation, but at least she would know what it was.
Lucas bent his long torso forward and leaned on his forearms. Staring down at his intertwined fingers, he said, “Maddie is a real special woman. She’s beautiful, she’s smart and funny and . . .”
Uh-oh, he’s breaking up with her. Olivia wished she had a cookie to cram into her mouth; she wanted so much to intervene.
“I don’t know, maybe I’m not interesting enough. I don’t talk a lot. Maybe she’s tired of me being quiet, but I think I’m a pretty good listener, and . . . and I love her with all my heart.”
And she adores you. What’s the problem? “Lucas, could you fill me in a bit? Have you two had a fight or . . . ?”
Lucas’s startled eyes lifted to Olivia’s face. Despite his chiseled features, his confusion gave him a boyish look. “Oh, I . . . I guess I assumed Maddie had confided in you. Sunday evening I asked her to marry me. She said no, and she won’t talk about it.”
By eleven forty-five, Olivia allowed herself to be hopeful that the store event would finish without incident. She was less hopeful about her ability to rescue Maddie and Lucas’s romance. Friendly, exuberant Maddie could close up like Chatterley Heights on a Sunday evening. When she did, it was serious. Olivia had lived in Baltimore for twelve years, through college and her marriage. She and Maddie had chatted often by phone, emailed, visited now and then. To be honest, though, living in separate locations had allowed each of them to limit how much to share with the other. Olivia had to admit she’d been tight-lipped about the problems she and Ryan were having, at least until she’d made the decision to leave her marriage. Had Maddie hidden a painful experience or two, as well?
Olivia had scheduled the announcement of the cookie cutter contest winner for twelve forty-five, so customers who couldn’t get away from work until their lunch hours would have at least some chance to participate. With luck, the crowd would clear out by one o’clock or shortly thereafter. Charlene must have heard about Maddie’s vegetable and fruit cookies by now and thought nothing of it.
Bertha waved to Olivia from behind the counter, where a line of customers waited to make purchases. Finally. Olivia had begun to wonder if her contest idea was so successful it had distracted folks from their new collection of hand-embroidered tea towels and their recently acquired vintage Wilton cookie cutter sets. Maddie had brought out the last of the cookies and was working the sales floor, so Olivia waved back to Bertha and headed toward the sales counter to help at the cash register. By the time she got there, the line had expanded to ten customers.
Fifteen minutes later, Olivia and Bertha had reduced the line to two customers. Olivia had a chance to survey the sales floor, which had grown denser with the arrival of the lunch crowd. The front door opened to admit a young couple she’d never seen before and, right behind them, Sam Parnell. She remembered he’d delivered their mail at about nine a.m., as usual. He was dressed in full uniform, complete with the hat that rarely left his head, but he wasn’t carrying his mailbag. Olivia assumed he’d decided to stop by on his lunch hour. Since the very first day The Gingerbread House opened its doors, Olivia could not remember Sam ever giving up his precious lunch hour to drop by. This could mean only one thing: Sam thought there was juicy gossip to be had, or perhaps helped along. Sam’s nickname—Snoopy—was well earned. Olivia’s hope for a confrontation-free event began to fade.
Olivia’s peace of mind took another hit when the front door again opened and in walked Binnie Sloan, the barrel-shaped editor of the Weekly Chatter, followed by her skinny young niece, Nedra. As Olivia knew from personal experience, the Weekly Chatter was not known for its adherence to journalistic standards.
Maybe, Olivia told herself, Binnie and Ned had come to cover the cookie cutter contest. Right. And Sam was there only to snag a cookie or three, despite his diabetes. Olivia noticed he did seem to be examining a half-full tray of decorated cookies with great interest. Finally, he selected one and took a bite. Binnie came up behind him, grabbed two cookies, and bit through both at the same time, as if they were a ham sandwich. Ned took a photo of the tray but did not indulge.
Another flurry of customers distracted Olivia for a time. When she was once again free to glance around, she saw Sam Parnell and Binnie Sloan in conversation, apparently about a sheet of paper that each of them held. Olivia told herself that they were simply comparing notes about the contest, but she didn’t find herself convincing. Her apprehension spiked higher. Turning to Bertha, she asked, “Will you be all right handling the register for a while? I’d like to check with Maddie to see how close we are to announcing a contest winner.”
“The pace seems to be settling down,” Bertha said. “You go right on ahead now.”
Olivia spotted Maddie standing in the opening to the cookbook nook, where she could see and be seen. In the crook of her right arm, she held a mixing bowl into which folks were depositing half-sized sheets of peach-colored paper. Maddie’s attention, however, was focused on the full-sized sheet of white paper in her left hand. As Olivia approached, she noticed red splotches on Maddie’s pale, freckled cheeks.
“Something tells me,” Olivia said when she reached Maddie, “that you aren’t reading the contest results.”
Without comment, Maddie handed the sheet of paper to Olivia, who recognized it at once as a copy of Charlene Critch’s anti-sugar manifesto that she and Maddie had spent Sunday afternoon cleaning off The Gingerbread House lawn.
“So Charlene printed more of these things?”
“Take another look,” Maddie said. “Then check out those folks who are just arriving.”
Obeying the last order first, Olivia watched as three women—customers who made regular trips from Clarksville in search of vintage cookie cutters—closed the store door behind them. Instead of plunging eagerly toward the ever-changing cookie cutter display as they usually did, the women paused to skim the papers they held. Their expressions appeared to range from bemused to concerned.
With chilled anticipation, Olivia turned her attention to the latest edition of Charlene’s diatribe against the demon sugar. The opening warning that “Sugar Kills” hadn’t changed, though Charlene had added an additional exclamation point. It was followed, as before, with a list of pseudo facts about how sugar accomplishes its dastardly effects. In this version, the claims were even more outrageous and, Olivia realized, more personal:
• WARNING: Don’t be fooled by a little lime zest. Cookies shaped like fruits and vegetables are still just clumps of sugar, and sugar is a weapon of human destruction.
• Sugar causes obesity, heart disease, diabetes, cancer, and dementia. If you are eating an iced cookie while reading this, you have shortened your life by several months.
• If you are pregnant and consuming sugar at this moment, you are condemning your baby to a life of illness and early death.
• No amount of exercise can undo the damage those cookies are doing to your bodies right this minute.
• Ask yourselves this question: What kind of person provides daily mega-doses of sweet poison to an entire town?
If you are worried about your health and your loved ones, come to The Vegetable Plate this evening at seven o’clock. We will plan how to take back our lives from the destructive effects of sugar in our own town.
“Wow,” Olivia said. “It seems we are a public menace. I’m wondering if we should call the police and have ourselves arrested.”
Maddie glowered. “I don’t find it amusing. Charlene is trying to destroy our business. I think we should sue her. I mean, this is illegal, right? You still have Mr. Willard on retainer, don’t you? So call him and ask if this is legal or not.”
“I don’t really see the need to keep an attorney on retainer, though I could certainly talk to him if it would make you feel better. But Maddie, nobody could possibly take this stuff seriously. It’s completely over-the-top. I’m more concerned about Charlene’s state of mind. She seems . . .”
“Insane? Bonkers? Several cookies short of a mass poisoning?”
Olivia heard a gentle laugh as her mother joined them, also holding the offending paper. “Maddie, dear,” Ellie said, “I must agree with Livie, and not only because she is my daughter. On numerous occasions, I have not agreed with her in the least, such as—”
“Mom, could we focus on the part where you think I’m right?”
“Certainly, Livie.” With a motherly squeeze to Maddie’s shoulders, Ellie said, “I do understand your feelings, Maddie. Those outlandish claims are more than lies; they are a profound insult, not only to your integrity but also to the intelligence of your customers. No, I don’t believe Charlene is clinically insane. I do sense that something is deeply amiss in her life, though, and this is her way of . . . I don’t know, assuming control?”
“Are you taking a class in Jungian analysis, Mom?”
Ellie patted her daughter’s arm. “No, dear, it wouldn’t provide nearly enough exercise for me. All I’m suggesting is that we turn our attention to Charlene’s current situation. For instance, who tore apart her store, and why hasn’t this person picked on other stores in Chatterley Heights? I have to wonder if Charlene is being tortured by a personal enemy, and maybe she feels alone. Perhaps we should talk to her, try to—”
“Uh oh,” Olivia said.
“Now hear me out,” Ellie said.
“No, I mean ‘uh oh,’ as in, look who is coming through the front door.”
Olivia noticed that the decibel level of customer chatter dropped a notch and several hands pulled back from the cookie trays as Charlene Critch closed the front door behind her. She was dressed to perfection in a figure-skimming, pink-and-white striped sundress. The stripes were vertical, of course, to emphasize Charlene’s slight figure. Her blond hair was gathered into a ponytail, with tendrils framing her face. From a distance, she could pass for a teenager.
Olivia accepted the inevitable: if there was to be a confrontation, she should be the one to handle it. For the long, complex process of creating decorated cookies, Maddie had infinite patience. For people, not so much. Forming her lips into a smile, Olivia wove through her customers and around display tables toward the front of the store.
Charlene watched Olivia’s approach with a cold stare. She didn’t speak until they were face-to-face. “How could you?” she said, loud enough to be heard by everyone in the store.
“How could I? All I did was—”
“Do you think I’m so dense I wouldn’t understand what you and Maddie are trying to do? I knew she was mean enough to try a stunt like this, but I can’t believe you played along. I ought to sue both of you.”
“Sue us? Look, all we did was host a celebration of the harvest. I really don’t think that is grounds for a lawsuit. If anything, you’re the one that—”
“This is just so . . .” Charlene’s brown eyes began to glisten with tears. “So mean. You were only pretending to be kind to me after my store got broken into. And now you’re trying to destroy my business.” Her thin chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath.
“Charlene, let’s talk somewhere else.”
“Don’t even bother to deny it. The evidence it right there.” Charlene pointed toward a nearby table, where a tray held three uneaten cookies: a magenta apple with a grinning pink worm, a cornflower blue carrot, and something that looked like a turnip with the icing licked off. “You and Maddie are trying to trick everybody into believing that healthy eating doesn’t matter, so they won’t come to my Healthy Eating Club, or maybe even my store. You’re trying to ruin me, and . . . and you’re willing to poison everyone in Chatterley Heights to do it.” Tears spilled down her cheeks, dragging her mascara and foundation with them.
In a flash, Olivia reached two understandings. First, Charlene probably believed everything she had written in her announcement. And second, her thickly applied makeup was an attempt to hide a black eye.
Charlene sniffled and swiped the tears off her cheeks. She seemed unaware that the bruised skin around her left eye had begun to show. “Anyway,” she said, “I didn’t come to talk to you. I need to talk to your brother.”
“Charlie? I think I saw him over by the coffee table, near the window facing the square.” Olivia waved her hand in the general direction of the window. “But Charlene, are you sure you’re all right? I couldn’t help but notice—”
“You’re the one who’s out of it,” Charlene said. “I think all that sugar has eaten holes in your brain. Charlie is my brother, not yours. I’m here to talk to Jason. Your brother.”
That superior edge had slipped back into Charlene’s voice. For a split second, Olivia wanted to slap her; then she remembered that someone already had. Olivia looked around for her mother. Wasn’t this where she was supposed to take over and calm the atmosphere? “I wasn’t aware you and Jason were friends,” Olivia said and instantly wished she’d stuffed a cookie in her own mouth. Charlene and Jason had been friends in high school.
“This is a small town,” Charlene said. “As you know, your younger brother is in my age group. Why wouldn’t we be friends?”
“Jason was in the cookbook nook a little while ago.” Olivia’s tone was curt, but she was beyond caring. “He was eating cookies. Lots of cookies.” So much for “handling” the situation with patience.
Charlene’s perfect little chin lifted a notch. “Then I’d better find him fast. I’ve wasted too much time waiting for your sugar-soaked brain to focus. I need to save Jason from the same fate.”
It’s time to announce the contest winner,” Maddie said as she handed Olivia a Gingerbread House recipe card with one name on it.
Olivia glanced at the name and whispered, “Jason was convinced he would win. Looks like you didn’t give him enough hints.”
“Give me some credit, Livie. I’m not a complete pushover. I gave him a couple hints, like the Duesenberg, but it turns out he isn’t the only old car fanatic in the crowd. Also, Jason isn’t a baker, so he hasn’t developed the knack of identifying shapes. He thought the baby rattle was a barbell. It seems he didn’t process the whole baby context of the mobile.”
“He really wanted that Duesenberg cutter,” Olivia said. Maybe she would give it to him—if he didn’t irritate her too much beforehand.
“Believe me, everyone knows how much Jason wants that cutter,” Maddie said. “I’d feel bad for him except he’s been whispering with Charlene in the nook. They seem pretty cozy. Just thought I’d warn you. Now let’s get cracking, the troops are assembling.”
Olivia and Maddie headed toward the picture window looking out on the town square. Customers watched in hushed silence, as if Olivia were about to announce the next governor of Maryland. Gotta love those cookie cutter fans.
“Thank you all for finding time on a Tuesday morning to join us for this impromptu celebration of the harvest and the eventual return of cool, crisp weather.” Olivia searched faces for Charlene but didn’t see her. She didn’t see Jason, either, which seemed odd given his longing to win the Duesenberg cutter. “I know many of you need to get back to work, so I’ll get right to the important part. Our cookie cutter contest winner today is . . . Gwen Tucker!”
As expected, Gwen selected the baby rattle for her free vintage cookie cutter. After congratulations, the majority of customers vacated the store, having feasted on a lunch of decorated cookies. For a fleeting moment, Olivia wondered if Charlene might have a point about The Gingerbread House being a den of wicked overindulgence. However, Charlene emerged alone from the cookbook nook and flung her a look of disdain, which erased Olivia’s guilt. Instead of leaving the store, Charlene joined her brother Charlie at the beverage cart by the front door. She appeared to be fixing herself a cup of tea.
Ellie appeared beside Olivia. “Overall, that went quite well, don’t you think?”
“Easy for you to say. You didn’t have to deal with Charlene. Where were you, anyway?”
“Right behind you,” Ellie said. “I could see you were doing fine, so I busied myself elsewhere.”
“I wasn’t doing fine at all. I got flustered and sounded like a nasty idiot.”
“Yes, dear, and it was a very effective strategy. Charlene is so sadly insecure. You gave her the opportunity to feel superior, which soothed her righteous anger. I’ve used that approach myself on numerous occasions. You must have picked it up from me.” Ellie glanced up at the Hansel and Gretel clock, so stunning and yet so difficult to read. Since it had been Ellie’s gift, in celebration of The Gingerbread House’s opening, no one minded its imperfections. Ellie said, “I have a voice lesson in either thirty or forty-five minutes, so we have just enough time.”
“Time for what?” Olivia asked.
“For me to tell you what I have learned.”
Spunky whimpered in ecstasy and ran circles around their ankles when Olivia and Ellie entered the upstairs apartment, leaving Maddie and Bertha to cover the store. On normal days he held court in the store, enjoying numerous ear scratches and the occasional treat from customers. On event days, however, he had to stay in the apartment. Crowds seemed to trigger memories of his puppy-mill days, which led to escape attempts.
Leaving her mother in the living room with the small Yorkie on her lap, Olivia brewed a pot of coffee and sliced some carrots and celery. Okay, maybe Charlene was getting to her. At the last minute, Olivia added some cheese crackers to the serving tray. And a couple dog treats, to make up for the ones Spunky missed because he’d been trapped upstairs all morning. Back in the living room, Spunky settled at Olivia’s feet to crunch.
“Okay, talk,” Olivia said. “What have you got on Charlene ?”
“That sounds so harsh, dear. I’ve gleaned a bit of background, that’s all. But first, I have a few things to share about Maddie and also about your brother.”
“Old news, Mom. Maddie won’t speak to Lucas because he asked her to marry him—don’t ask me to explain it—and Jason is an idiot because he is besotted with Charlene.”
Ellie nibbled on a carrot stick and smiled in that calm and knowing way that always made Olivia want to crush something. “Okay, Mom, out with it.” Spunky’s ears perked up at Olivia’s tone.
“I am impressed,” Ellie said as she selected a piece of celery. “Soon you won’t need me to dig up information for you. However, that time has not come yet. As for Maddie’s reaction to Lucas’s proposal, I have a starting place for you. Maddie was about ten, as I remember, when her parents died in a car crash. I know that they were living in Clarksville at the time, and I occasionally saw her mother when my watercolor group wandered in her direction to find a picturesque scene to paint. Adele had been a part of our group before she married and moved away from Chatterley Heights. She always joined us when we gathered close to Clarksville, which we did at least once a month. Adele used to paint in the loveliest shades of pink and red to create a vibrant aura.”
Olivia grabbed a handful of carrot sticks and bit off several tips at once.
“Livie, I promise I’m going somewhere with this. You see, Adele was a lot like Maddie—enthusiastic, full of energy and ideas. But a few months before the accident, she began to change. She grew quieter and much thinner and—this is significant, I think—she started painting with blues and purples.”
Olivia dropped the carrots on her plate. “You think she was depressed? Or drinking, maybe?”
“I saw no evidence of drinking, but who knows? Mostly, she seemed terribly sad. I tried to question her about it the last time I ever saw her. She was vague, but she did say something about her husband having some problems. Apparently, she never shared her situation with anyone else from my circle, so I can only guess at what was going on. I did wonder if her husband was having an affair. Has Maddie ever talked about that time with you?”
Olivia shook her head. “All she’s ever said is that her memory is a blur for the period surrounding the accident. Maddie doesn’t like to dwell on anything that makes her feel sad. She’s fine with anger, as you know. But even when her high school sweetheart Bobby suddenly broke off their engagement, she reacted more with panic. We agreed that Bobby had acted like a jerk, and Maddie recovered in record time.” Olivia divided the remaining coffee between their cups and added milk and sugar to hers. She picked up a half-eaten carrot from her plate and wrinkled her nose. “I could use a cookie.”
“Me, too,” Ellie said. “I suppose there aren’t any left downstairs?”
“Cleaned out. However, not to worry, I always keep a small stash in the fridge. Because you never know. . . .”
“Absolutely. Besides, I have more information to share.”
“I’ll put another pot of coffee on,” Olivia said. She gathered up the tired-looking vegetables and headed toward the kitchen. By the time the coffee was ready, she had chosen four decorated cookies in shapes as unlike fruits and vegetables as possible. She returned to the living room with the refilled tray, only to find Ellie balanced on one leg in a yoga position. Spunky was stretched over her foot as if he were worried she might fall over.
Her eyes closed, Ellie said, “Just a few more seconds, dear, and I will tell you what I’ve learned about Charlene, poor child.”
“No problem, Mom. I’ll eat one of your cookies while I’m waiting.”
Ellie’s only response was a serene smile. After another twenty or so seconds, she relaxed and opened her eyes. “Now I feel more centered,” she said, settling cross-legged on the sofa.
“Your balance is impressive,” Olivia said, “given your advanced age.”
“Thank you, dear.” Ellie’s small, slender hand hovered over the cookies and finally landed on a yellow heart shape decorated with dark pink curlicues. “Now, about Charlene Critch. I had a revealing chat with your brother after he and Charlene finished their little talk. Jason tried to be evasive, but as his mother I was able to read between the lines.”
“Jason couldn’t be evasive if you swiped his favorite wrench and held it for ransom.”
“Which did make my task easier.” Ellie savored a small bite of her cookie before saying, “Jason does like Charlene very much, as you said.”
“I said he’s besotted.”
“Be that as it may, Jason sees another side of Charlene that you and Maddie do not. To him, she is vulnerable and sweet. I suspect Charlene is more comfortable with men than women, which is hardly surprising given how critical her mother, Patty, could be.” Looking pensive, Ellie nibbled on her heart cookie.
Olivia worked on an orange-and-purple butterfly cookie, determined to be patient with her mother’s unique delivery.
Ellie polished off her cookie and said, “I gathered from Jason that the abusive man in Charlene’s past has followed her to Chatterley Heights. Jason let slip the name Geoffrey. I suspect he is her ex-husband, the boy Jason introduced her to all those years ago. I assume you noticed Charlene’s bruised eye?” When Olivia nodded, Ellie said, “I asked Jason point-blank about the eye, but he said she was shelving some new items and hit her cheek on the corner of a shelf. He was lying, of course. I always know when Jason is lying; his left eyelid twitches.”
“You are scary, Mom.”
“Thank you, dear.”
“What about Charlene’s brother, Charlie?” Olivia asked. “Could he be the one abusing her? He seems devoted to her, but that could be a sign of possessiveness.”
Ellie pulled her knees up to her chest and leaned back against the sofa. Olivia felt a twinge of envy about her mother’s flexibility. Maybe yoga wasn’t such a revolting idea.
“I’ve seen Charlene and Charlie together, and I’ve never noticed possessiveness on the part of either of them,” Ellie said. “In fact, I saw them yesterday morning. I was having an early breakfast at the Chatterley Café, and the two of them were there. They seemed deep in serious conversation, as if they were trying to solve a pressing problem. By the way, I noticed that Charlene paid the bill.”
Having dispatched her second cookie, Olivia settled back to sip her coffee. “That fits with what Struts Marinksy told me. Charlie doesn’t seem to have any money, despite his inheritance.”
“Interesting,” Ellie said, checking her watch. “However, I’ve missed my voice lesson, and my classics reading group starts in half an hour. I need to pick up my copy of Sense and Sensibility on the way.” She unrolled her petite body from the sofa and shook out the wrinkles in her loosely draped outfit. “We can both keep an eye on Charlene’s safety, but there isn’t much else we can do. Jason said she refuses to talk to the sheriff.”
“I can at least mention to Del that someone might have blackened her eye,” Olivia said. “Even if she denies it, he should know.”
“You realize that Charlene will blame Jason for telling.”
“I’ll be discreet. After all, I’m not the only one who noticed the bruise.”
Since Spunky had been stuck in the apartment all day, Olivia took him out for a short, brisk walk before returning to The Gingerbread House. It was near closing time, and Maddie was the only one left in the store. Olivia could hear her singing snatches of tunes along with her iPod. Spunky had learned to open the kitchen door by running at it full speed and flinging his little body against it. Olivia heard Maddie’s squeak of surprise when Spunky tumbled inside.
Maddie poked her upper body through the door, held out a squirming dog, and said, “Does this belong to you?”
“Never saw it before in my life,” Olivia said.
“One day he’s going to break his tiny neck.” The instant Maddie plunked Spunky on the ground, he took off like a furry rocket and raced around the store. Watching the blur, Maddie said, “If he destroys any of our displays, I’ll break it for him, the little darling.”
Olivia laughed. “You would act just like Spunky if you’d been kept prisoner all day. How were sales?”
“Great! I will leave the counting to you, as always. You do the boring stuff, and I do the fun stuff. It works. And as resident gifted baker, I am about to tackle the cookies for Gwen and Herbie’s baby shower tomorrow evening. Yes, I know, I should have them all cut out, baked, and in the freezer ready for icing, but things got a bit hectic.” Maddie stuck her iPod buds in her ears and turned her back on Olivia. While Maddie gathered ingredients and equipment for the cookies, Olivia collected the day’s receipts and settled at her little kitchen desk. She’d hoped to talk with Maddie about Lucas’s proposal and Charlene’s response to their “harvest” cookie event, but she could tell the moment wasn’t right. Maddie hadn’t even brought up Charlene’s bruised eye. When Maddie closed the door, it couldn’t be blasted open with dynamite.
After a couple hours of dealing with numbers, Olivia was ready to call it quits for the day. Their sales had been good for a Tuesday, but not as impressive as most previous events, especially when she factored in the cost of all those cookies the customers had consumed.
“I’m beat,” Olivia said. “I’m going to bed early tonight.”
Spunky trotted over to her, but Maddie gave her a puzzled look and pulled her iPod buds from her ears. “You spoke?”
“I said I’m heading for bed. Are you planning to work all night?”
Maddie shook her head. “I’m actually tired, for once. I’ll clean up in here and turn out the lights.”
Olivia nestled her sleepy dog in one arm and closed the kitchen door behind her. With the store lights dimmed and the air conditioner on low, the light clink and dull shine of the cookie cutter mobiles reminded her of outdoor chimes. The store still smelled faintly of lime zest. At that moment, Olivia could not imagine leaving Chatterley Heights and moving back to Baltimore. The Gingerbread House had sneaked into her heart the way Spunky had as a puppy, the first time she’d held him.
Feeling expansive, Olivia decided to give her brother the Duesenberg cookie cutter he so coveted. Without turning up the lights, she wound through densely packed displays to the transportation mobile from which she’d hung the cutter. It wasn’t there. Unable to comprehend what she was seeing, Olivia reached toward the spot where it had hung, on the right side of the mobile. It had to be there. Gwen had chosen the tin baby rattle cutter as her prize. And Jason wouldn’t have taken the cutter on his own. Would he?
Maybe Maddie had given the Duesenberg to Jason. It would be like her to take pity on him because he hadn’t won the contest, even with her hints. Olivia poked her head into the kitchen and waved to get Maddie’s attention.
“Maddie, did you by any chance take that Duesenberg cookie cutter out of the transportation mobile?”
“Nope,” Maddie said. “Not my job.”
“It’s gone.”
“It can’t be.”
“Well, it is. Gone, absent, disappeared.”
“Livie, you don’t think Jason would . . . ?”
With a slow shake of her head, Olivia said, “I can’t believe that he would. It’s a valuable cutter, but Jason knows I’d let him have it free, or at least for next to nothing. Anyway, he seemed awfully focused on Charlene and her problems. It’s hard to imagine he’d even have thought about it. Well, I won’t worry about it tonight, and don’t you, either. It’ll turn up. Maybe it fell off and someone put it somewhere in the store. I’m sure we’ll find it in the light of day. You look baked to a crisp. How many days has it been since you slept?”
Maddie yawned and stretched. “I’m fine. I went to bed early Sunday night.”
“This is Tuesday evening. I’ll clean up. You go home and get some rest.”
For once, Maddie didn’t argue.